From being an Abandoned who had rarely left the Hollowed Grounds, to embracing the call of adventure, to dying and being reborn first as an Ascended and then as an Ancient, Maea has gone through quite the amount of changes in her life. One thing remains common, though, in her attempts to find out just where she belongs; she’s always had a craving for knowledge which has brought her to so many places and to meet so many people here in Caido. We can’t wait to see what else is in store for her!
Congratulations, Maea!
Credits
Court of the Fallen was created in October of 2018 by Odd, Honey, and Crooked.
Skinning and hosting by the epically talented Kaons, and functionality fanciness by the coding magic of Neowulf. If you ever see either of them around, make sure to show them some love!
Álfar and their tricks. No son of the great lake would bend the knee for some illusive forest dwellers, not even the one left quivering in his boots. A better man, a warrior, so tense an arrow would stick like shot into wood. At least he told himself that.
The stoic warrior winced as he finally managed to loosen himself enough to offer up a curt nod and the stiffest of bows. Stoic, even stubborn, but not completely lacking any and all courtesy, even towards the Fae.
So there he stood, offering up his meager respects while standing tall and for once keeping his mouth shut.
05-31-2019, 05:57 PM (This post was last modified: 05-31-2019, 06:35 PM by Jigano.)
He kept an eye on those who arrived after he did, watching his friends gravitate towards others, as they had each time before. Sam appeared as if by magic, not there one moment, standing on the shore the next. Melita slipped to Ronin’s side, and the raccoon he held who could only be Remi. An owl ghosted silently out of the night, but the starwhale calf beside her revealed her identity as surely as Isuma did his own. She drifted to land above another fox, surprising him and twisting an ugly thread of jealousy in his heart as he considered who that fox likely was… if not a traitor, then still a coward. And still preferable to his company, it would seem, though Jyoti’s greeting soothed some of the uglier shadows in his heart, before she, too, abandoned him. Lily found Lucas’s side, and so in the end it was only he, Sam, and Are who stood alone amidst the gathered celebrants.
Ah well. It was nothing he wasn’t used to, after all, and perhaps a sign that… no. No, he wouldn’t let himself be lost down that dark path tonight.
The will-o-wisps were beautiful as they came to light the way, and what they illuminated was a ceremony of pomp and circumstance that shone brightly in the bard’s heart, eclipsing the darkness that had threatened there. He might not know the reason for what was happening, but the lovely girl who was carried on the gilded litter was clearly a reason for celebration, and she looked joyous in performing her office, whatever it might be. Gentle, bright, beautiful; they were all entranced by her, the Fae waiting on the shore, and Jigano nudged Isuma with his nose as she peeped happily at the jubilant atmosphere around them. The white fox rose onto his feet, the gryphon at his side, and they both stretched their front paws out before them in canine bows of respect and joy.
Tell me little dear if you've only lived here,
have you ever really lived at all?
Sam was not sure what was going on when the wisps and naiad began to appear, but from the reaction of the Fae and the sheer beauty of the woman before him, he knew there was something meaningful happening. As he saw the approach he dipped his head in respect of things he did not know. Clasping his hands together, Sam waited a few breaths (or the time they would have taken, at least, given he no longer breathed) then looked up again to see what would happen.
Scritching Remi affectionately behind one furry ear and smiling to Melita, Ronin honestly didn't know what to expect out of this. He watched the will-o-wisps closely and kept his eyes peeled at those who gathered with them, just in case it was something as absurd (or deadly) as a trap while they were distracted. He was watching the crowd so hard that he missed, at first, the arrival of the beautiful woman upon the litter.
Catching himself and blinking stupidly at her for but a moment, Ronin dipped his head in respect that was entirely automatic - an object of his upbringing, no doubt. He was unable to lower himself into a full bow because of the raccoon in his arms, but the gesture was unmistakeable.
Ronin's constant moving was making for quite an uncomfortable sleeping position. With a grumble, the raccoon opened his eyes and was surprised at the sight on the river. Sitting up in Ronin's arms (grabbing at his collar to help lift himself into a seated position), Remi tilted his eyes, his small nose and whiskers twitching as he took in this strange sight.
Glancing left and right and seeing those around kneeling, bowing, and otherwise proferring themselves out of respect, the raccoon tilted his head. Ingrained in him was the greeting from Northaven, and so with a hand (paw) over his heart, the raccoon bowed deeply in Ronin's arms, his fluffy tail wrapping snuggly around his feet.
so crash into me one more time
Coding base by Sky!
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
With ears flicking this way and that, Ianto lifted his head to spot those he knew among the approaching Fae and humans. He shifted in the grass, still flat to the ground, and he only peeped his nose out at the approach of the Naiad.
Breathtaken with her beauty - and what's more, having been told of this occasion last year - the fox shifted elegantly into a man. He disturbed a few will-o-wisps as he stood from the grass, sweeping into an elegant bow before the Naiad and her bearers.
The scene which unfolds is utterly brilliant, beauty rising from the lake on the shoulders of the Fae. The Naiad is luminescent: Amalia is reminded of Safrin's majesty, struck by the same awe and admiration she felt upon first seeing the diety. All around the Fae are merry, and up ahead Jyoti is, too, her voice a song of starlit darkness as she rises off of Deimos's shoulder. Unafraid and jubilant, the calf swims in an arcing circle, leaving cosmos around the princess, a celebration in silver light.
For her part the girl is breathless, entranced for a moment, unable to speak. Another miracle, strange and beautiful: there is no lack of such things here, no end to the magic which pulses through this place. Amalia hoots a reverent note, wishing there was a song for this moment, that her grandmother could be here to relish and rejoice. She does not know what she should do, what actions are to be taken in such an event: but she can guess who would.
Taking silent wing she descends to the ground, landing softly beside Jigano and shifting not to girl but leopard, the owl skin replaced by a feline shape. Arcing her back, the leopardess mimics the white fox's movement, bowing deeply to the carried fae, her dark eyes never leaving the being as Jyoti breeches and trills.
You are flesh and blood
And you deserve to be loved
and you deserve what you are given
And oh, how much
Lucas glanced about at the sight of Lily, resplendent in the light of the will-o-wisps, and he felt a grin spreading across his face. "Perhaps I'll even let you," he replied, equal parts amused and attracted to her bold nature. Unfortunately before he could offer his arm like a proper gentleman, they were disturbed by the appearance of some Fae woman in a box.
Arching an eyebrow curiously - even more so at the sight of everyone fawning and bending the knee - Lucas of course remained where he was stood. Back straight, chin lifted defiantly, he waited for something worth the show of respect to happen.
His eyes followed the line of movement and motion, more and more assembling, gathering beneath the wake of mystery, awe, and enigmas. Wessex came to maneuver beside him, silent and obliging, and he nodded towards her, indicative of their warrior silence and measures; existing in tandem with blades and rapiers. A familiar whale calf swam in its starlight essence towards him, circling along his shoulder before landing, indicating Amalia was nearby – instinctively he reached for nimble Jyoti, while his gaze meandered on the crowd again, searching for patches of fur or gilded hair, striving to catch the light even as the din grew, until his attention was deviated from the search by the arrival of another – a higher being.
Something approached from beyond the stilts, carried, like a noble would be, meandering down streets and corridors. Were they incapable of walking? Was it something marked by Fae endeavors and notions? Jyoti rose away from him, and he was left to his own devices, thoughts, and ideals, arching a brow stoically at Wessex, as if sharing the unknown amusement and humor, waiting for the oncoming storm, tempest, or reveal. The Fae’s jubilance and exultation was noted; something was bound to happen.
His stare caught the fringes of others bowing, proffering respect to the void, to the abyss, to the war of the unknown. Seditious intentions bristled against his spine; he’d only ever dropped his cranium to passing monarchs, to those who’d earned his respect or expected it, though who was to say this woman wasn’t among those requiring the esteem or regard? Indecision and meticulous efforts plagued him, yearning to raise his hackles to simply resist out of normalcy and comfort, the uncertainty clawing at his bones. In the end, he played it safely, the rebellion swallowed down for a better venture, dipping his head at the incoming woman, stare cast off to the side to watch others; study, scrutinize.
They gathered, drawn and enticed, and her essence stirred, waiting impatiently for something to happen. What was going to appear? What were the Fae so excited about? Was it ominous, foreboding, or enchanting, alluring, like the rest of the fey outlines, quietly, unassumingly bewitching, calling them over from their hollowed lands? Her eyes swarmed to those nearby, to Ronin and his raccoon, to Wessex nearby, to Fangorn at her ankles, his eerie stare fixated and focused on the stilt village. She followed his gaze, watching as something seemed to rise amidst the long, wooden beams – carried and assembled by other Fae – approaching, closer and closer, a thing, a sight to behold.
The ethereal container and being inside screamed regard and rectitude (who was she? What was she? What was going to happen?) – and the girl did so, following the same paths and sketches others made, folding herself over in a polite bow, a practice of reverence from days of Helovia, beneath the weight and wake of the Sun God’s gaze. While this may not be her preferred flames and infernos, she was willing to wait and see. Fangorn followed suit as best he could, lowering his glance, studying a few insects nearby.
This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight
In the end, she can’t bring herself to do it. Despite the sight of the Fae and her own people bowing low before the carried woman, Wessex stands and quietly watches her. There are many things to watch tonight: an owl who seems familiar with Deimos, who then shifts to a leopard (oh, Amalia, they have so much to catch up on), a flying small whale (!!!) foxes, raccoons, the shine of the sea and the beauty of the lady. And though all of those things are collectively compelling, in the end, the woman on the litter is not her lady. The Ascended will not bow, and she will not beg forgiveness for her ignorance. It is a choice.
Just like her choice to forsake the Old Gods. Just like the Fae’s choice to hate the ‘unnatural.’ One by one, she sees the rest of them (aside from Lucas, her fellow deviant) incline themselves to some degree while the blonde woman simply stands tall and watches without a sound.
No, I’ll be the stone
I’ll be the hunter, a tower that casts the shade
I lie awake and watch it all
from what i’ve tasted of desire i hold with those who favor fire
A soft chuckle falls out of her mouth like golden drops, but then there is a commotion that draws her attention. What? Lily isn’t totally obsessed with Lucas so as to not pay attention to a gorgeous woman on a litter. Especially when this particular woman elicits such a response from the crowd. She inhales ever so slightly, fully taken in by the scene. As a ripple of movement comes towards them, she can see the Fae - and her people - bowing in various ways. Lucas, however, remains still, and with a curious (truly only curiosity, there is no judgement in her gaze) glance towards him, the redhead shrugs and decides she might as well follow suit. Perhaps her respect will be enough to cover both of them.
Sweeping into an elegant curtsy, she bends her knee and inclines her head with as much grace as a practiced courtier who sees royalty every other day.
It is noted, the two lone strangers who do not bend the knee, but nothing is remarked upon for now. Sylvan wings aflutter on her shoulders, the Naiad stands within the litter - and for a moment you can see the nerves, the trepidation, the uncertainty of change. But only for a moment, before it soothes back into the serene expectation that comes with fulfilling one's duty.
Silence in the night. The world holds its breath - and she steps, delicate as a snowflake on the ground, down onto the soft sands.
Still, the Fae give no reaction - not as she faces the river, not as the will-o-wisps surge and gather about her, shielding her in a halo of light. No, it is only when she steps onto the water (illusion? flight? magic?) that they break their silence. There she twists and moves, the water responding to her rhythm in a dance that is pure and wild. And the Stonesong sings for her, truly, a haunting melody of rock and water, and the Fae erupt into cheers.
There is a great deal of splashing and clamouring as they join the Naiad in the river to celebrate, even as the litter is borne away again. There will be a new Naiad, but this dance is for the past.
Jump into the Stonesong to celebrate! Again... or don't. ;D You have 24 hours to respond.
Respect and dry pleasantries was one thing he wasn't beyond offering to the forest folk. Joining in their revelry though, that was one bridge too far. He wanted to be the better man, to put what was behind, turn over a new leaf and step into the waters a better man. Yet the stony gaze and silent defiance of the Ascended reminded him of what exactly he was; an armed interloper, not some frolicking diplomat sent to mend any strained relations.
Are took a small step back, aware of what sorcery could do to one not careful to keep away. Even as the beautiful display erupted in joyful song his face was left a strained grimace and hands left resting close to axe and shield.
From a safe distance the cobbler-warrior disapprovingly witnessed the celebration of the Álfar and their precious Naiad.
